


i miss you

by MetaphoricallyPainful



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 97-line, Extended Metaphors, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Metaphors, Past Relationship(s), Sad with a Happy Ending, dryad! Minghao, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphoricallyPainful/pseuds/MetaphoricallyPainful
Summary: “He meant a lot to you, didn’t he?” The words ring like evening bells through the quiet, lilting and beautiful out of rose petal lips.“He still does,” Seokmin replies, vowels shaking slightly. The man acknowledges his nerves with a smile, a lopsided up tilt of his lips at the corners.ORSeokmin visits the graveyard everyday, and one day comes back with a dryad.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Seokmin | DK, Lee Seokmin | DK/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	i miss you

**Author's Note:**

> I always promise myself that one day I shall write something wholesome and sweet and not sad. But I never really succeed.
> 
> So here is another sad fic (with a happy ending ofc) 
> 
> So idk, read and enjoy.
> 
> NOTE: Changes have been made to Minghao's physical appearance to accomodate for the fact that he is a mythical creature, and therefore descriptions won't adhere to his actual appearance and it is intentional.

_ When you look at the night sky, lying awake under that skylight you have in your room, do you think of me? Do you see the stars blinking at you from their perch in the sky? Do you see the smiles they form at you?  _

_ That’s me, Seokmin. That’s me, smiling at you from heaven because I no longer can in real life.  _

_ Sometimes I dream, and in the dreams, I’m lying awake under a blanket of stars, staring up at the same dome of darkness. I like to imagine that you are with me, that I can simply move my hand and tangle my fingers with yours.  _

_ I miss you. I miss our conversations, miss our time together. _

_ Tell me, Seokmin, when you look up at the night sky through that skylight in your room, what do you see? _

  
  
  
  


_ “I miss you too.” _

  
  
  
  
  


Seokmin visits the cemetery everyday. And everyday, he brings that same letter with him. 

His feet take him through winding cobblestone alleys, around beautiful, old coffins and up mossy staircases. His fingers trail over the graves, the names faded to time and memory, layered with grime and dirt. He can still make out some of them, though, and he runs his fingers over them and wonders if they still have loved ones grieving over them. He always ends up in front of one particular coffin, marked by a single stone slab hosting a bed of moss. Flowers rest on top, petals still full and fresh. Seokmin kneels, fingers brushing over the place where the name is, buried under living organisms that somehow still manage to thrive in a place commemorating the dead. 

The identity of the one under is buried, the same way his body is buried, forever asleep with dirt and stone as a blanket. Seokmin sets his new bouquet of flowers on top. Sunflowers, this time, reminiscing how attentive he always was, always turning towards Seokmin like sunflowers to the sun. He unfolds the letter, the paper worn and crinkled, ink smudged and blurry. It doesn’t matter. Seokmin has the words memorised anyways, imprinted into his mind. He lays it on the coffin, and stands up with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I see you, Mingyu.” he says to the silence. 

“I lie awake at night and I see you in the stars, where you belong now, every bit the precious shining gem your name so suggests.” 

The silence doesn’t respond, but the trees ruffle their leaves, orange, flecked with gold under the permeating sunlight. Seokmin bends to pick up the letter again, folding it delicately back into its tattered envelope. He turns to go, but a flash of movement catches his eye. A man stands in the shade under a tree, clad in flowing robes of a rich burnt umber, gold seams climbing up his body the same way the vines climb up the tree beside him. Dark brown hair sweeps across his forehead, and onyx eyes shine back at him from beneath the curtain of his bangs. 

Seokmin is rooted to the spot, something akin to fear tip-tapping fingers up his spine. The man steps forwards into the sun, and sunlight bathes him in gold, glimmering like an unrealistically beautiful hallucination of a guardian angel.  _ Maybe he’s a ghost,  _ Seokmin thinks dimly, entranced. The man makes his way over to him a step at a step, mindful of his footsteps, respectful of the many resting beneath the earth. He stops in front of Mingyu’s coffin, head tilted and eyes curious, regarding Seokmin in a way that makes him feel bare. 

“He meant a lot to you, didn’t he?” The words ring like evening bells through the quiet, lilting and beautiful out of rose petal lips. 

“He still does,” Seokmin replies, vowels shaking slightly. The man acknowledges his nerves with a smile, a lopsided up tilt of his lips at the corners. 

“I’m Minghao,” he introduces, “I’m a dryad.” Distant recollections of Greek mythology echo in Seokmin’s mind. Dryads are tree spirits, and very much  _ mythical. _ His disbelief must have shaped his features, for Minghao smiles wider and simply  _ fades  _ back into the tree he was standing at, leaving behind nothing but a faint scent of honeysuckle and sandalwood. He’s back a second later, earthy robes fluttering and gold still shining. Seokmin gapes at him. Minghao giggles, delightful and sweet, and Seokmin finds himself smiling. 

“I think I believe you now,” he says, eyes crinkling at Minghao’s visible relief. 

“I don’t see many people,” Minghao says, voice low like a confession, “La Cimetière du Père Lachaise might be the most beautiful cemetery in Paris, but not many visit.” 

Privately, Seokmin is glad. Minghao doesn’t seem to be aware of his visual appeal, lean and slender, even while draped in fabric. The sunlight plays over his cheekbones, shadows contouring his face, which tapers off into a point at his chin. He wears elegance like a cloak. 

They spend the day in companionable conversation, sitting with shoulders brushing as they talk about everything, nothing and all the things in between. Eventually, the sun slips from the sky, and Seokmin waves goodbye at Minghao. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Minghao smiles, tentative, shy. Warmth flutters in Seokmin’s chest, a collapsing pile of logs rekindling. Seokmin only smiles in response, and disappears around the bend of the alley way. 

He goes home that night and watches the stars, but this time he smiles back.

  
  
  
  


_ When the leaves of autumn fall, do they do so with a rustle of the branches, a whisper promising that they’ll return? Because that’s what I like to think I hear: my voice, echoing in the wind, promising you I’ll be back. It’s so empty up here, Seokmin, and loneliness is a constant companion. Ironic, isn’t it? What about you, Seokmin? Do you feel the weight of loneliness riding on your shoulders? But maybe I’m just being selfish and you have moved on, reclining into another reality the way you do their embrace. Do you still watch the stars, Seokmin? Do you remember us? _

_ I miss you desperately, but if you don’t, that’s okay too. I’ll always forgive you in this lifetime and all the others that precede and follow. _

  
  
  


_ “I miss you too.” _

  
  
  
  


Seokmin still visits the graveyard everyday. And everyday, he stands in front of Mingyu’s grave and promises that he’s still watching the stars. Minghao watches him from beneath the quivering shadows of thin autumn branches, eyes warm tar in the waning afternoon sun. Sometimes he’ll join Seokmin, shoulder gentle against his, fingers tangling in his when the grief becomes too much. 

Then, they will sit on the cascading steps of the cemetery, watching birds nest for the winter and chatting about their lives. Minghao tells him of his dryad friends, of the seasons that shuffle past and the grieving faces that come and go. Seokmin tells him of his little house in Paris, of Parc de la Villette, the rolling green fields and vibrant flowers dotting the emerald expanses. Conversation is a river between them, fluid like time, crystal clear and bubbling. 

Each day, Minghao asks him what Mingyu means to him, but he can never bring the words past his lips. And so they remain locked behind his teeth, and his tongue ties itself in efforts to explain himself. Minghao never blames him, only settles a hand on his back and rubs soothingly. Seokmin finds himself enjoying their quiet time together, mutual understanding transcending words. 

Each night, Seokmin turns to go, and each time, Minghao holds on for just a little longer, before letting go and wiggling his elegant fingers in a cheesy little wave. Seokmin laughs each time, indulges him, wiggling his fingers in imitation before vanishing around the bend. Their days together are accompanied by a quiet sort of joy, the kind that sneaks in and settles before either parties realize.

Eventually, the lines between them blur, and their conversations carry something more than just friendly talk. Platonic touching becomes kissing, and Seokmin finally pushes the words past his lips and tells Minghao of Mingyu. They clean his grave together, scraping away the dirt and the grime. He brings Minghao back with him to his apartment, where sunlight plays in the room and the view is the gorgeous chessboard of Paris. They plant Minghao’s tree in the park near Seokmin’s house, which bursts from the ground at the first sliver of spring, blooming like the love between them. 

On the day Minghao’s tree spirals into adulthood, Seokmin watches the stars. But this time, he has his arms wrapped around a beautiful dryad. He points out Mingyu’s stars to Minghao, traces the patterns of Mingyu’s smiles onto his skin, laughing when he twitches away because it tickles. Minghao turns to him in that moment, and he’s smiling like the stars are strung across his lips; like the stars are flung out and strewn across an obsidian sky in onyx eyes. The stars fizz their way through Seokmin’s veins, dashing warmth into his heart. They stay like that until sleep drags its blankets over them: eyes locked, smiles flowering on their faces, Mingyu beaming from above.

  
  
  


_ The trees are beautiful today, cherry blossoms blushing across branches in a mad dash of color. And the stars, as always, are bright and glowing. I’m happy, Mingyu, and I know you are too. I hope you remain that way, for it’s everything you deserve. Goodbye, my precious shining diamond, I will always miss you. _

_ I love you. _

_ Seokminnie.  _

* * *

  
  
  


_ “I miss you.” _

_ “I love you.” _

_ I miss you too. _

_ I love you too. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
